Book 2 Dead Man's Hand: The Knights of the Golden Dragon

by Troy Reaves

  Boremac found the time spent with the twins healing and educational. He received information about Travelflor from them that made him curious to know what they were up to when they were not with him. They casually dismissed his queries, simply saying that women had less trouble moving about in dresses than thieves in leather ever would. He was smart enough not to push the issue, considering the good fortune Alchendia had chosen to send his way. The most interesting bit of personal information was their odd names.

  On a particularly dreary day shortly after the pair had taken over his care, the two of them announced almost formally that they were going to share themselves with him. Boremac’s initial excitement was quickly doused by the realization they intended to tell him about their own history. The two had been born under dubious circumstances to a baker’s wife that lived in the merchant quarter. It had long been assumed by their parents that their mother was barren, the fact that she had not become pregnant was proof enough for her husband, and she had taken up with various visitors to the city on occasion on the sly. One of the baker’s wife’s more frequent visitors was a beautiful man of the forest, or so she had told her children, with golden flowing hair and eyes like emeralds. They were quite the item due to the ease with which she stole away to meet him, the baker was more interested in his profits than a woman that could not produce children to help. After some time, their mother became heavy with them and for a while after their births, the baker thought his efforts to reproduce had finally been rewarded. The pale tufts of hair on their matching heads and the shimmering depths of their green eyes had not troubled the dark haired baker at all. The whispers started soon after. When the whispers became open talk carried right into the bakery, the baker could no longer ignore it. When he sent his wife away, the twins carried in her arms, she went to her parents and remained. The twins were renamed for the’ranger’ that was their father, who interestingly enough never reappeared so far as they knew once their mother had become pregnant, and were given the names Flora and Fauna by their besotted mother. This irritated Fauna to no end. They visited their mother often and she did well enough caring for her now elderly parents who, though not in the upper echelon of the society, had had successful mercantile ventures in their early years that still carried them comfortably. The twins chose to make their own way, finding the quiet stability of their grandparent’s home maddening. They were well educated and could have found promising prospects in the wealthy families of the city, but that would have meant separating and that was unacceptable, not unthinkable, but for the time being unacceptable. The twins knew at some point they would have to find some means of steady support, but for now this did not weigh heavy on them. More immediate concerns pressed.

  “You know, Boremac, we really were impressed with you fighting Hammer,” Flora said, with her voice dripping sincerity. “I thought you handled Fauna with some skill during our previous encounter as well. We have been keeping an eye out for you for some time.”

  Fauna eased her words in neatly, following her sister’s as was their habit. “Yes, I found you quite a gentle man the last time we met. Makes me glad now that I did not gut you. I see you are honorable, though misguided, side concerning lasses remains. We really must teach you how to handle two blades. The last move against Hammer, obviously borne of desperation, still shows you might be a capable blade wielder.” Her harsh way of speaking to him, the only way you could tell the difference between the twins, was grating. He knitted his eyebrows by way of reply, giving her a hard look. “Do not try to deny it, and do not believe I care at all for your thoughts on the matter.” She said.

  “Fauna, please. No need to be cruel. Boremac has not had the gift Alchendia gave us in having one another. He is alone. More alone than most.” That last seemed to close the subject of discussion for the time being and brought the twins back to their more immediate task, bringing Boremac back to fighting strength. He wondered how long he could take advantage of their graces. He wondered what exactly they had in mind for him once he was fit again. His own imaginings were far too promising and his eyes narrowed at Fauna once more as Boremac thought of the darker things they might want concerning him.

  8

  Dangerous Games

  “It really is important that we protect our safe house, Boremac.” Flora had stated, gently dangling the sack from her delicate hand. The way she held it reminded him of an executioner holding a noose. “We would have no end of trouble if bandits, or worse, found out where we go to train.”

  Fauna’s words did not give any solace concerning the whole situation. “Indeed, Flora, is correct. One or two bodies are easily disposed of in the sewers but a whole gang would no doubt begin to stink before the rats took care of them.” Her vicious grin made Boremac regret coming with them at all, anywhere. “I do not understand your trepidation anyway, Boremac. If we wanted you dead, you would be dead, and Hammer would not.”

  “That was a pity. No gain in the taking of his life, though his mistress will certainly not be missed. She was intolerable. We just could not have anyone threatening our hero; our leather clad blade wielder that will make our path to wealth so much easier.” Flora’s smile was less than reassuring. Boremac almost preferred her sister’s wicked grin. At least it was honest.

  Unfortunately Fauna’s full attention had turned to him then as she had snatched the bag from her sister’s fingers. “Man up, Boremac. I promise we will not damage you more than needed. There is one small thing that needs to be addressed before we proceed. Flora, please.” Boremac never saw the blur of motion that had ended up with his butt striking the cobblestones of the alley... hard. Flora had slinked her arms under his to help him up but he had batted her away angrily. “What in the Abyss was that all about, Fauna?” He had spit the question at her like a snapping wolf hound someone tried to take meat from.

  “Now we are even, snatcher.” As if the degrading term were not enough, Fauna had slapped him on the top of his head. She had then none too gently yanked him up, staring him dead in the face. “We own you. You would do good to remember that.” She looked over his shoulder and blinked. Flora had held him fast, and she proved stronger than he would have thought. Boremac could not help noticing the warmth of her that ignited a flame in him as well, even as Fauna had enclosed his head with the sack. The morning light had turned from a gentle copper to the near pitch dark of night. Boremac had to admit, the trip to the safe house had been safer than the preparation for it, and carrying the warmth of Flora’s touch at least made the twists and turns more bearable.

  Boremac looked around the warehouse he found himself in as the sack over his head was pulled away. Luckily it was Flora who removed it. Fauna had been a bit too aggressive in tying the drawstring of the bag around his neck, very nearly choking him with it when she cinched the knot.

  So here he was, at a large warehouse that appeared to be well outside his old haunts. It had obviously been deserted for some time, and calling it a dingy place would have been far too generous. As his eyes adjusted to the low light filtering through the windows, Boremac took in his surroundings and the multitude of cracks in the walls and roof. He knew all too well that knowing the best path out could save your life, or at least a beating. There were boxes of various sizes everywhere except the center. He reasoned that the warehouse had to be in the merchants’ quarter somewhere, probably one owned by the twins’ family. Rats and spiders competed for dominance in the place, judging by the cobwebs and bored holes throughout the dim landscape. The rats seemed to be holding the territory on the ground floor where he stood and the upper storage runs built around the perimeter of it, judging by the burrows dug through almost all the crates he could see. The spiders seemed to be content holding the darker spaces and higher regions, weaving giant webs everywhere in the support braces. One thing was certain, the place had been built to last. He pondered briefly if there were any old bones scattered in the crates and shuddered at the thought that it would be a good place to hide a body, especially some
one no one would miss.

  More interesting at the present moment was the twin’s matching garb. They now stood before him in matching fine leathers with a short sword and dagger at either hip instead of their usual dresses. He could not help but stare and it did not go unnoticed. “You did not think we wandered around in dresses all the time, did you? Pick up your slack jaw and arm yourself, Boremac. We are not here to entertain you.” Fauna, as always, got right to the point. “Let me see if you can take me in combat again. I doubt it very much.”

  Flora interrupted as smoothly as ever. “My sister, though rather callous, is correct. You should take up your daggers. I recommend using both if you have any skill in duel wielding. She is still rather upset about the last encounter with you. Give her a good fight, and a strong defense, and she should not bleed you.” Fauna’s weapons appeared in her hands before her as if they had always been at the ready position. Boremac dropped back slightly to balance himself in his own defensive fighting posture, daggers drawn with all the confidence he could muster. It was not much and this must have showed clearly on his features and drew a final remark from Fauna before they began. “Yes, well, Flora if this is the best he starts with then I do not see any way I can make this end well for him.” She charged him without stirring the dust closiing the space between them and Boremac was afraid he had to agree with Fauna. This was going to go very badly.

  Her first slices seemed almost too slow for what he knew of Fauna’s speed. She was obviously testing his defense, keeping the short sword low in front of her while she teased his daggers out of position with her own dagger. Boremac was tempted to strike with his fisted pommel but kept such thoughts at bay, trying to take her measure and not get stabbed in the process. The precision of her movements demonstrated honing well beyond his own training and any aggressive move he made would have to be weighed carefully, of that he was certain. He found he was being backed into the wall formed of crates somewhere behind him. That was the last thing he needed. Boremac stilled his breath as he had done sparring against George. He steeled himself against the pain that he knew would come as he prepared to try and distract her long enough to get around her. His opening strike came as she swept his dagger away from its protective position yet again, bringing his weapon roughly even with his shoulder. Boremac had little room to build momentum but he took advantage of the space given, attempting to fire his fist at her shoulder and roll with the motion. The fist, weighted with the dagger, met thin air but it seemed to be enough. Boremac was able to whip his body around in a tight semi-circle that shifted him neatly at Fauna’s back. Unfortunately his back was now to her and before he could move away, she struck him hard with the flat side of her short sword. Boremac stumbled forward under the strength of the blow but found his feet quickly enough to face her. Despite his misplaced attack, he had at least gotten some breathing room. “Well done, Boremac.” Fauna tossed her short sword over to Flora’s feet. “Now it is time to get serious.” She tossed her dagger back and forth between her hands to demonstrate she was comfortable fighting with either. “Do not fall down, Boremac. If you do, I will carve you. Not the face though. Flora would never forgive me if I poked out one of those pretty eyes.” Flora’s only response was a sigh.

  “My one blade against your two. Should be a bit more equal now.” She came toward him slowly this time, in no hurry to prove her prowess or extract her revenge. She was no doubt loving every moment, or so Boremac presumed. He could find no opening in her defense at this time and unfortunately he did not know how much time he would have. Boremac had a good estimation of how little time he had with her new onset of thrusts. Her hand wielding the dagger danced before him, deflecting his daggers with ease. Once his defense had been nullified, she slammed her own pommel weighted palm into his shoulder. It made a lasting impression despite the way she had pulled the hit before impact. “Nothing broken, thank Alchendia.” Boremac had time to think little else but the small prayer before she was at him again. She crouched, threatening his nether regions brusquely, before popping up and slamming into his stomach with her shoulder. Air vacated his lungs in a rush as he tilted backward, stumbling to the rear to stay up. “Damn she is fast, and strong.” Fauna pivoted neatly back on her heels, bringing herself into a standing position. “That, Boremac, is how you do that. Watch vipers fight in the pits some time. There is no wasted movement, all business for them. They have only one prize for the winner there, Boremac. Live to fight again.” She let him recover a moment, giving him a rapid series of light claps after she sheathed her dagger. “You have potential, but little more at this point, at least where blades are concerned. Your prowess when last we met seemed to be at fisticuffs. Let us see if that is still the case.” Boremac was not sure what worried him more, that Fauna did not bother to enter a fighter’s stance with her hands up or that she was willing to face him in barehanded melee. One thing he knew for certain. It was time to educate Fauna, and wipe that grin off her face. This was his fight now.

  It was his turn to charge, planting each foot solidly in anticipation of the leg sweep the twins seemed so fond of using. He could not blame them. Easier to disable than to trade blows in a brawl, something he knew all too well. What Fauna did caught him completely off-guard and even as she abruptly halted his forward motion, grabbing his head and stepping slightly to one side to be missed by his legs as they continued out from under him, he was shocked by her wiry strength. Fauna wasted no time straightening him up to his full height and placing his feet beneath him. She stared hungrily into his eyes, speaking with a soft tone that had appeared normally reserved for her sister. “Oh, Boremac, you are such a proud man. Good thinking, poor execution. Not terrible but still poor or you might have succeeded in tackling me. Oh well, I should not be stingy. Let me reward your efforts at least.” Fauna then planted a sweet light kiss on Boremac’s lips that, at any other time, would have brought him to his knees. Unfortunately this was not any other time. Flora cried out, “Fauna, no!”, but it was too late. Fauna moved back just enough to slam Boremac’s head into her waiting bent knee. The force of the impact drove Boremac backward with one knee holding him up in the front and his other leg bracing his body at his back. He managed to not fall over to one side only by planting his palms on either side of his bent front leg and placing his head alongside his leg. He whimpered then and prayed that he would not pass out. He would not give her that pleasure. He would, however, rest here until his head stopped screaming. That would be awhile. He hoped they had a cart to carry him home in. Boremac figured it was the least they could do.

  Flora’s soft voice pulsed through his head, each one a solid strike on an anvil by a very strong smith. “That was unkind, Fauna. Boremac, you should probably let Mama take a look at that. Maybe put some meat on it. Look at the brighter side, it barely shows under your hairline.” The rough meanness was back in Fauna’s tone, making the darkness Boremac had kept at the edges of his vision rush in seeking purchase. “Hey! Come on, Flora. You know I could have planted that knee anywhere I wanted. Anywhere, Boremac. Think that one over for a while.” The last thing he wanted to do was think about that but since she had brought it up, his mind kept playing that scenario through his aching head. It was less than pleasant, making his head ache even more. “Ah, Boremac, just concede. I know that has to hurt. Let me help.” Boremac almost blessed Fauna for the sudden strike of her fist at the back of his head that carried him into the darkness. At least the painful throbbing was gone.

  9

  Conflicting Information

  Boremac awoke with the alarming, yet oddly familiar and reassuring, feeling of Mama’s arms holding him tightly against her bosom forcing the air out of his lungs with a gently tightening squeeze. More bothersome at the moment, she was bellowing over his shoulder, bringing back the memory of the rapid hammer blows that had assaulted him so recently. “What!?! Street thugs did this to my baby!?! How stupid do you think I am!?! I do not know what the two of you are trying to get out of my boy, nor do have
any mind to care! Go, now! Go lick your wounds somewhere else before I put my baby down long enough to knock some sense into the pair of you. Please test me. Please think I cannot do just what I say.” Mama’s last words came out blessedly lower, even if they could be thought of nothing less than a bear’s growl.

  Flora made the attempt to make a reply getting the beginnings of an apology, or something, out. “He was amazing but there were just too many. Goddess, I wish...”

  “Get out! Now!” Boremac found himself plopped somewhat unkindly in a nearby chair as Mama moved to aid the twins’ departure. He noted two things from his new perspective. First he could breathe freely again, no small relief on its own, and second the twins looked like they were in almost as bad shape as he was, possibly worse. Their dresses hung around them in tatters, ripped and cut in various places with signs of bloody marks showing through some of the tears. There was even some bruising in areas decorating their arms and shoulders as if someone had been attempting to drag them off the streets. They would no doubt blame it on the slave traders. The mercenary collectors rarely bothered coming into the city but it was not unheard of, especially in the thieves’ quarter. The men made a practice of not damaging the faces of the women they took. It drove down the value by a good bit. The rogues that populated the thieves quarter had found long ago that it was better to ignore them, safer too. Even the coordinated patrols from Alchendia’s Path only went after the slavers when they became a significant problem and, even then, the city patrols usually stepped in if more than one roving band came within the quarter. There were rules, even here, and in the thieves quarter most offenses that violated the code of conduct here was punishable by death. The executioners ranged from assassins to mobs but the punishment remained the same.